Asylum
by shadow6116
Summary: In the asylum, crying never helps. And there's no chance of you getting help either... Welcome to the madhouse. AU


He takes a deep breath, looking up at the window with thick bars. Sunlight streams through, mocking him. He tries to remember the last time he felt sunlight on his face, but…

_Rain comes down in torrents. Thunder mingles with the screams of a child who is begging, please daddy, don't let them take me. Daddy, please. Please don't leave me… don't leave me… don't leave me…_

He scowls. It's his fault that he's in here. His fault that he's stuck in hell. He's going to pay…

His thoughts are interrupted by the clacking of the small flap on his door. Breakfast. He gets off of the bench that is also his bed. The meal is as meager as ever; a small plate of scrambled eggs, a few sandwiches, and a plain plastic cup of water. He picks up a sandwich and starts chewing, trying not to think about the rest of the meal. The thought would only remind him of how much his life had changed.

The meal is finished, and he's left alone with his thoughts once more. He can't help but shiver a bit, and he clutches his thin hospital gown closer to him.

A guard soon comes in, and leads him into a room. A room with a whitecoat in it. He scowls.

The whitecoat tries talking to him. Says that they're only trying to help him. Yeah, right. He might've believed that if he hadn't already heard this a million times before. He says this thought aloud. The whitecoat frowns, saying that it's the truth. No, it's not. He screams at the whitecoat, demanding that he tell the truth. The whitecoat scowls even further, and reaches out toward him. He gets scared, and puts his hand out-

There's a strange dripping noise. Something hot and slimy drips into his hand. He looks at it, and it's a gelatinous mixture of red and gray. Then he looks at the whitecoat; he's on the floor, clutching his face, but you could see the holes where his eyeballs once were. He feels sick and quickly tries to shake his hand free of the blood and eyeball remnants.

Guards come rushing in. Some help up the whitecoat, but the others surround him. He pleads with the mob, he didn't mean to, he really didn't mean to-

And then a hard boot kicks him in the jaw. He swore he felt teeth leave him. And then more follows, fists beating him into submission. When it's finally over, they drag him into a padded cell. But he doesn't cry. Crying never helped in a place like this.

XX

He's strapped down on an operating table. Everything around him is shiny and sterile-looking. He hates it, but what he hates even more is what they're doing to his body. They're completely focused on the operation, ignoring the blood that's already everywhere. However, he doesn't dare make a noise, because he knows that they could drive the blade in deeper…

XX

He is screaming. He's had another "outburst" as the whitecoats would call it, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is getting away before they do something terrible to him.

A guard forces him down, even though he's struggling as hard as he possibly can. An orderly comes over with a bucket and turns it over him, drenching him in icy cold water.

They force him up. He is screaming even more, trying to get away from them, but his efforts are futile. They lead him into a room and force him onto a table. They strap him down strap two metal plates to his forehead, shoving a wire into his mouth.

A whitecoat flicks the switch, and he can only scream harder as hundreds of volts of electricity course through him, blue sparks appearing in his vision, the screeching noise filling his ears.

XX

A whitecoat is holding him down; he's grown quite used to fighting him in the time he's been here. He's in a straitjacket, but he threatens the whitecoat anyway, because he knows he has powers inside him that could finally help him get out. Unfortunately he's filled with uncertainty, and it shows through in his voice.

The whitecoat laughs and begins removing his pants. He realizes what's happening and tries to fight harder, but that doesn't stop him from losing something precious. Something that he can never get back.

He can only lie there with his broken body, quietly sobbing, but with no tears. The whitecoat only smirks as he pulls his pants up and leaves the room.

XX

He watches from the window in his cell door as they carry a body bag out. It seemed like someone couldn't take it anymore and took the easy way out. But he wouldn't take that way. He was stronger than that, he knew…

XX

He can't move, and it's completely dark. The whitecoats and guards put him under maximum security when they finally realized how dangerous he was after several… incidents.

A sliver of light appears. He looks up, but he is jostled by the orderlies tightening the straps on the straitjacket. Then they grab the poles attached to rings on the straitjacket, leading him like some kind of animal. He fights back, planting his feet on the ground. The orderlies fight as well.

He drops, kneeling on one leg. He cries out as he tries to struggle out of his bindings. More orderlies rush over, trying to stop his efforts. One hand gets free-

And then the rest of him is. He screams, letting out his rage through that force he knew that made him different from everybody else in this hellhole. The orderlies fly back, hitting the walls with screams of their own that satisfy him.

He looks at the cold florescent lights, and they explode, sending the orderlies running. He runs at the door, and it melts, letting him through.

More orderlies appear, trying to stop him. But he throws his hands out, and large cracks appear in the walls. The orderlies can do nothing as the corridor collapses. He runs down another.

He keeps on running, finally reaching a door reading EXIT. He only has to will it open, and it throws itself open. He steps out, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. He looks up at and feels the sun for the first time in years-

And then he feels a heavy hand grip his shoulder roughly. He whips around, and there's a whitecoat, holding a needle. He tries to react in time, but it's too late as the whitecoat shoves the needle into his neck. He can only scream as the sedative enters him, going to work immediately.

More guards and orderlies come. They throw him back into his cell, and he can only cry. Fresh, hot tears run down his face as he realizes how close he had gotten to freedom, and how he will likely never taste it again…


End file.
